


Misdirection

by Stidean



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Mom, Cowboys, Crack, Failed Experiments, Femme Fatale, Hurt/Comfort, Mission Failure, Neck Wound, Other, Prompt Fic, Sneaky James Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stidean/pseuds/Stidean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q: "O.K. Just a peek through the office door window and… What… WHAT THE HELL IS MY MOM DOING, TALKING TO JA- I MEAN BOND?!? Oh, SHIT! I don’t know who to worry for more, if this goes beyond a simple chat (pangs of jealousy; not a good time, dammit!). What the hell is she grabbing his arm for? Oh, Christ. My flirty Mother with MI6’s biggest manwhore… MY manwhore… Well… not mine… Not anyone’s. Not anymore, since Vesper…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misdirection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tiwtin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiwtin/gifts).



> Again, a prompt made by a friend. All her prompts end up as crack.

*click click click*

 

“Oh, F-u-u-u…. Christ… Chancellor, take over, I uh… I have to, um, see about something in my office.”

 

*click click click*

 

“No problem Q. I’ll just equip 007 with what you ordered for his mission and explain to him how it functions. Are you O.K? You’ve gone white as a sheet.”

 

*click click click*

 

“Oh, fine and dandy (‘fine and dandy? What the hell?!?’). I’ll just… yeah…”

 

*click click click*

 

Got to make it to the office before she sees me. Thank GOD she was surrounded by her yes-men and far too preoccupied when she entered the room. If I just hole myself off in here for an hour or so, she’ll give up and leave me alone. Oh, you avid readers must want to know who it is I am avoiding like the plague: the owner of that pair of Manolos which are making that irritating clacking sound on Q-Branch’s floors as she walks on them; the woman who Eve has just let in, knowing exactly who she is, most likely to annoy me.

O.K., well, imagine a young Blythe Danner, and yes, I know she’s not part of the cast of ‘The Only Way is Essex’ or, for you American audiences, ‘The Jersey Shore’, but you can just Google her, and cross her with a contemporary Emma Thompson. Give that person complete control over her sex appeal; add power; take her husband out of the equation; shake it with illegally gathered information that could damage some of the more obscure, but far more powerful, figures of the British government, and you get………. Well, you get my Mother…

Now, let me make it clear. Despite how powerful she is, she had NOTHING to do with my appointment to MI6. I know this for a fact because she objected vehemently to me taking this job, so I am sure I attained it, not only on my own merit, but rather IN SPITE of any strings she might have pulled to deny me this appointment, for which I am MORE than qualified to have. Of course, she couldn’t have objected too strongly, since I did get it in the end. Had she been truly set against me having it, well… I would not have made it beyond the most basic of screenings…

 

‘O.K. Just a peek through the office door window and… What… WHAT THE HELL IS MY MOM DOING, TALKING TO JA- I MEAN BOND?!? Oh, SHIT! I don’t know who to worry for more, if this goes beyond a simple chat (pangs of jealousy; not a good time, dammit!). What the hell is she grabbing his arm for? Oh, Christ. My flirty Mother with MI6’s biggest manwhore… MY manwhore… Well… not mine… Not anyone’s. Not anymore, since Vesper… What on earth could they possibly have to talk about for so long?!? Oh, oh please don’t let it be me… Please don’t let them be talking about me… I have him just where I want him; the banter, the easy going fun-poking. We had just started to reach the point in which it could be considered flirting. If she balls this up for me… Oh, she’s gone. Good. That’s, uh. Good. Yeah. Time to pull myself together.’

 

“So, your Mother is a charming woman.” Seriously Mom? You had to introduce yourself as my Mother? Three terms as MP; almost achieving the post of Chancellor of the Exchequer but declining it before having it be made official; diplomatic missions in America in the early 90s’ and Russia during the Cold War; briefly considered as a candidate for the role of PM during the mid-90s’, and you introduce yourself as ‘Q’s Mommy’?

 

“Yes… yes she is. Then again, so are piranhas if you keep your distance.”

 

“I’m sorry, have you ever seen piranhas? They’re hideous creatures. I’d dare say your Mother is far from being considered hideous. One might almost say…-“

 

“Enough, 007. It was just me trying to emphasize how dangerous people like my Mother can be if you let your guard down. I don’t need to be told my Mother is… hot (‘and there goes my lunch’)… Just take your damn equipment and get out.”

 

“Oh, didn’t they tell you? No, the job in Panama was postponed; something to do with a buyer who got cold feet… and then a bullet to the head. I’m a free man for the next two weeks, till the mess is cleared and sorted.”

 

“Wonderful. Will you be using your free time constructively or just planning on finding a way to… um…” Shit, I’ve said too much. Don’t pick up on the jealousy… Don’t pick up on the jealousy…

 

“Date your Mom? Would that bo-…”

 

“Just get out, 007. If you have no reason to be here, then don’t be.”

 

“Fine. Just thought I’d mention I had a ‘Star Wars’ duvet cover as a kid, as well.”

 

Before I could retort, he was already too near the door to make my reply with any efficiency. Good God, did she have to divulge that particular bit of information? Wait… he had it as well? Never mind.

 

 

*****

 

It becomes the talk of the office. Little hints about the restaurants they frequent; what topics of conversation they cover; the age disparity. No one is too surprised Bond picked on my Mother as a, uh, companion? Yeah. Best use that term so my head won’t explode. Of course, none of this is passed on through MI6’s official channels; would be considered inappropriate. It all spreads through the memo system. Or rather, what we **call** The Memo System, since no one uses the ACTUAL memo system any longer. The death of the post-it note.

 

“Did you really take your parent’s washing machine apart, in order to build a time machine when you were 11 years old?”

 

“How…? How is that ANY of your business? Is that what you do on your dates with my Mom? Finding new and interesting ways to humiliate me?”

 

“She said you only achieved in driving the dogs in the neighbourhood completely insane, once you turned it on.” He ignored my comment completely. “Of course, you gave up, eventually. Saying something about ‘Star Trek’ getting it wrong.”

 

“Yes, utterly hilarious: the pasty nerd tried to build a Time Machine, but did nothing more than scare the hell out of everyone in his neighbourhood, and almost driving the police to euthanize eleven dogs.”

 

“I was just wondering, why a washing machine?”

 

“I thought centrifugal force, given enough power, would create a slingshot effect to…- Anyways, why the hell am I telling you all this? Just leave me in peace so I can concentrate on building you the equipment you won’t bother to bring back from your next mission, and focus long enough to make sure said equipment doesn’t end up killing you. ‘Panama’ has been rescheduled, as you well know, so you’ll have to make your excuses to my, um…”

 

“Mom?”

 

“Yes, well done, you managed to say it. Now, get out.” My attachment to this man was growing stronger, rather than weaker, the more annoyed I got with him. Oh crap. What does that say about me? Masochistic inclinations? Rather not dwell on that, to be honest…

 

 

*****

 

‘Panama’ comes. People get less and less wary about discussing the subject of 00Mom, as they had dubbed it, in my vicinity. That, paired with Bond needling me through my earpiece, made me very antsy:

 

“Did you really want to have a Cowboy-themed party for your eighth Birthday? Did you really like Cowboys?

 

“Is this really relevant? You are being shot at!”

 

“I am always being shot at. Anyways, being shot at is what made me think of it. Gun slinging Cowboys. Do you still like them?”

 

“007, you’re going to die if you don’t keep focus. Please, just leave it.”

 

“Oh, come on.” He hits both shooters. “There. Taken care of.”

 

“Could you have done that all along?!?”

 

“Not exactly. I needed the incentive. Now, you were saying? It’s not as if anyone else can hear this conversation. I know you have me in your ear.”

 

“There are still call transcripts.”

 

“Made and read by the most boring humans on the planet. MI6 employees are all basically spies and yet even these guys can’t be considered interesting were they to introduce themselves as such at parties. Now. Cowboys. Do you still like them?”

 

“Why is this relevant to you? Why do you want to know these things?”

 

“Just curious. Your Mom said-“

 

Silence.

 

“My Mom said what, Bond? Bond? My Mom said…” Then I notice his vital signs starting to flatten and all hell breaks loose.

 

 

*****

 

Neck wound almost killed him. It didn’t go in, just took a large chunk from the left side. If it weren’t for 003 taking the shooter out, and Medvac’s quick reflexes, he would have bled to death. To say I was distraught was an understatement. I immediately phoned my Mom to tell her, since they WERE dating, though she seemed rather unperturbed by the news. Not uncaring, just… detached… Oddly enough, she seemed much more interested in how I was bearing the news.

I left my operatives in charge of ongoing operations, under Anna’s supervision, of course, and went to Medical as soon as I was told he had been put there for his recovery. The first aid, naturally, was administered at the scene, but as soon as it was deemed acceptable to move him, he was flown back and put in Medical. I sat there, staring at his sleeping body, covered in white sheets, monitoring his breathing by watching his bare chest rise and fall. I took the opportunity to speak rather more plainly than usual, since the prick couldn’t answer back.

 

“You fucking, stupid, idiot. Why was it so important to ask me that while you were in mortal danger? Why did you have to lose focus just to tease me about Cowboys? Yes, you fucking knob-head. I still like them. Why was it so important to ask at that moment? Why then? Can’t you take ANYTHING seriously?”

 

“I-I-I just wanted to give you a nice birthday surprise…” Bond barely got out in a strained whisper. I was almost startled out of my wits.

 

“Wha…?” I came closer to his bed so I could hear him better.

 

“I wasn't dating her... I just thought… I don’t know… Maybe I’d surprise you… dress like a cowboy on your birthday. Maybe take you to see a play by Pinter, since your Mom said you liked his stuff so much. Or take you to see a Panto on Christmas, since your Mom and Dad never did, no matter how much you begged; saying it was far too puerile for you, despite the fact that you WERE a child.” He took a small break to catch his breath “I just… I just wanted to know you. You never share anything, not even when I try to tweeze it out of you by playfully teasing you during missions. Q… I just want to know you.” All of this was said very slowly, the wound causing him incredible pain, no doubt, but as always, he stubbornly ignored it.

 

I sobbed loudly.

 

“Why didn’t you just tell me this? Why did you have to go through my Mom? Why does every-… wait… were you serious about wearing a Cowboy outfit?” He chuckled deeply and put his knuckles against my tear stained cheek, in warming affection.

 

“Later…”

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt (too spoler-y to put as summary):  
> Q thinks he's doing well, flirting with Bond, teasing him by not telling him his real name etc. Then his embarassing mother visits, and Moneypenny, amused, lets her in and she meets Bond. Who is utterly charming with her. So charming they arrange lunch... then dinner etc. Q goes nuts thinking Bond is trying to get his mum in bed, but infact he's enjoying Mum's Q stories and getting intel on Q.
> 
> Changed a bit, but the basics are there... mainly, new ways to humiliate Q.


End file.
